Deryni Checkmate

by Katherine Kurtz

"The king is an impotent child!" Loris retorted. "He will not resist the entire Gwynedd clergy—not when his own condition is so highly suspect. He, too, will obey the Interdict."

  "Will he?" said Arilan, leaning across the table in defiance. "He was not so impotent when he took control of the Regency Council last fall and freed Morgan, seated Lord Derry against your protests. Nor was he impotent when he defeated the sorceress Charissa to keep his throne. In fact, as I recall, you were tHe impotent one then, my lord!"

  Loris reddened and glanced sharply at de Lacey,

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  who had halted, pen poised over the parchment, as Arilan spoke. "Sign, de Lacey," he whispered, returning his stare to Arilan. "We shall see how many support this young upstart and how many prefer to support the side of truth."

  As de Lacey signed, eight of the other bishops made their way to Loris' chair to sit and add their signatures to the document, only Bradene remaining in his place when all had finished. Loris stared at Bradene and furrowed his brow, started to smile as Bradene rose slowly to his feet and made a slight bow.

  "I rise, my lord Archbishop," he said quietly, "but not to sign your document."

  Cardiel and Arilan exchanged glances in amazement. Was the great Grecotha scholar going to come to their side after all?

  "Nor can I join these esteemed gentlemen to my right," Bradene continued. "For, while I do not support the Interdict for reasons of my own, neither can I bring myself to ally with men who would break with the Curia and destroy it—which is precisely what will happen if Bishop Cardiel and his colleagues carry out their threat to defy this assembly."

  "Then, what do you propose to do, my lord?" Tolli-ver asked.

  Bradene shrugged. "I must abstain. And since abstention in this case is useless to either side, I shall retire to my scholastic community in Grecotha to pray for you all."

  "Bradene—" Loris began.

  "No, Edmund, I shall not be swayed. Don't worry. I shall not be an embarrassment to you."

  As the entire assembly watched in amazement, Bradene bowed farewell to both sides and glided out the door. As the door closed behind him, Loris turned to glare at Cardiel, his jaws working in fury as he began moving slowly into the horseshoe toward the six rebel bishops.

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  "I shall suspend the lot of you as soon as the papers can be drawn up, Cardiel. I shall not allow this assault on my authority to go unpunished."

  "Draw up your papers, Loris," Cardiel challenged, leaning both hands on the table to return Loris' glare. "Without a majority of the Curia to sign, neither your suspensions nor your Interdict are worth any more than just that—paper!"

  "Eleven bishops—" Loris began.

  "Eleven of twenty-two does not constitute a majority," Arilan pointed out. "Of the eleven who have not signed, six are here to oppose you and will never sign, one has refused to play your game, and the other four are itinerant bishops with no fixed sees, out ministering to th'eir flocks where they belong. It may take you weeks to find one of them, more weeks to convince one of them to sign."

  "That does not concern me," Loris whispered. "Eleven or twelve, it makes little difference. This Curia will consider you outcast, and the people will seek out Morgan and deliver him to us to end this as soon as possible. And that, after all, is the object of this action in the first place."

  "Are you sure it's not to stir up a new Deryni holy war, Archbishop?" Tolliver said. "Deny it if you can, but you and I both know that when Warm de Grey receives word that the Interdict has fallen—which I have little doubt he will, if you have anything to say about it—he will launch the blodiest anti-Deryni campaign this kingdom has seen in two hundred years. And he will have your sanction!"

  "You're mad if you believe that!"

  "Am I?" Tolliver retorted. "Was it not you who told us how you had met with this Warin and given him permission to dispose of Morgan if he could? Didn't you—"

  "There's more to it than that! Warin is a—"

  "Warin is a fanatic hater of Deryni, just as you

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  are," Arilan broke in. "Only the degree is different. He has become distressed, just as you have, that Corwyn has become a place of refuge for Deryni under Duke Alaric's rule; that many Deryni, some fleeing from your persecutions in Valoret, have found a haven in Corwyn where they can live quietly and unmolested. I don't think they'll stand by and let themselves be slaughtered as they were in the past, Loris."

  "I am not a butcher!" Loris spat. "I do not prose-cute without good cause. But Warin is right. The Deryni scourge must be erased from the earth. We will grant them their lives, but their evil powers they must forever consign to the outer darkness. They must renounce their powers, must render themselves incapable of ever using them again."

  "Can the common man make that fine distinction between Deryni, Loris?" Cardiel asked vehemently. "Warin will tell him to kill, and he will kill. When that time comes, will he be able to sort out the Deryni apostates who Have renounced their powers from those who refuse to give up their birthright?"

  "It will not come to that," Loris protested. "Warin will obey my—*'

  "Get out!" Cardiel ordered. "Get out before I forget I am a priest and do something I may later regret! You sicken me, Loris!"

  "You would dare-?"

  "I said get out!"

  Loris nodded slowly, his blue eyes blazing like coals in his snowy head. "Then it is war," he whispered. "And all who side with the enemy shall be counted as the enemy. There can be no other alternative."

  "Loris, 111 have you thrown out if I have to. Tol-liver, you, Wolfram, Siward, Gilbert, be certain they leave. Tell the guards I want them gone by midnight at-the latest And watch them."

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  "With pleasure!" Wolfram retorted.

  Face white with rage, bearing stiff and restrained, Loris turned on his heel and stalked from the hall, followed by nis bishops and clergy and Cardiel's four dissident bishops. When the doors had closed, only Cardiel, Arilan, and Hugh remained; and Hugh was huddled down in the chair where he had sat through the entire confrontation, his head bowed fearfully. Arilan was the first to notice his presence, and he motioned Cardiel to join him as he moved quickly to Hugh's end of the table.

  "Staying to spy awhile, Father Hugh?" he asked quietly, taking Hugh's arm and raising him to hw feet gently but firmly.

  Hugh kept his gaze averted, twisted a fold of his robe as he studied his sandaled toes. "I am no spy, my lord," he said in a small voice. "I—I wish to join you."

  Arilan glanced at his colleague, and Cardiel folded his arms cautiously across his chest. "What brings you to this change of heart, Father? You have been Archbishop Comgan's secretary for some years."

  "It's not a change of heart, Excellency—at least not a recent one. Last week, when I discovered that Loris and Corrigan meant to lower the Interdict, I warned His Majesty of the plan. I promised him I would stay to see what more I could learn. I could stay no more after today."

  "I think I understand," Cardiel smiled. "Denis? Are you willing to trust him?"

  Arilan grinned. "I'm willing."

  "Good." Cardiel held out his hand. "Welcome to our group, Father Hugh. We aren't many, but as the psalmists tell us, our faith is strong. Perhaps you'll be able to give us some insight into what Loris and Corrigan are going to do next. Your help will be very valuable."

  "However I may assist you, Excellency," Hugh

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  murmured, bobbing to kiss Cardiel's ring. "Thank you."

  "Now, no ceremony," Cardiel smiled. "We have more important things to do. If you'll find my secretary, Father Evans, we can use both of you in about a quarter of an hour. We'll have some urgent correspondence to get out."

  "Of course, Excellency," Hugh beamed, as he bowed and made his exit.

  Cardiel sighed and sank down into
a vacant chair, closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead wearily, then looked up at Arilan. The younger bishop had perched himself against the edge of the table, and grinned down at Cardiel with a look of grim resignation.

  "Well, we've done it now, my friend. We've split the Church right down the middle on the eve of war."

  Cardiel snorted and smiled wearily. "War with Wencit of Torenth and civil war. If you think that won't keep us busy...."

  Arilan shrugged. "It couldn't be avoided. I pity Kelson, though. Loris will be after him next. After all, he's half-Deryni the same as Morgan, with that extra power from his father thrown in to boot."

  "Which simply means that Kelson will have to be living proof of how beneficent and pure a Deryni can be," Cardiel said. He sighed, laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. "Wliat do you think about the Deryni, Denis? Do you think they're really evil, as Loris contends?"

  Arilan gave a slight smile. "I think that there -are some evil Deryni, just like anybody else. I don't believe that Kelson, or Morgan, or Duncan are evil, though, if that's what you mean."

  "Hmmm. I just wondered. That's the first time I've ever gotten a straight answer out of you on the subject." He turned to twinkle at Arilan. "If I didn't know better, I'd sometimes swear that you were Deryni."

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  Arilan chuckled delightedly and clapped Cardiel on the shoulder. "You think of some of the strangest notions, Thomas. Come. We'd best get busy, or the real Deryni will be pounding on our door."

  Cardiel shook his head and stood. "Heaven forbid."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Stand now with thine enchantments, and with the multitudes of thy sorceries, wherein thou hast labored from thy youth.

  Isaiah 47:12

  DAWN OF the second day was but a few hours away when Morgan and Duncan came within sight of the walled city of Culdi. They had been riding steadily for nearly twenty hours, after only a brief stop in Rhe-muth to confirm that Kelson had already gone on before them.

  Nigel, managing Kelson's affairs in the capital in the absence of his young nephew, had been appalled at the tale Duncan told of the Dhassa debacle, had agreed that their only course of action now lay in getting to Kelson with the news as soon as possible. Once word of the episode at Saint Term's reached Kelson, probably in the form of an official decree of excommunication from the Curia at Dhassa, the young king would be risking much to even receive the two fugitive Deryni. Meanwhile, Nigel would step up his mustering of troops for the coming campaign and prepare the army to move out. If the domestic crisis in the southeast continued to worsen, those troops might be needed to quell internal strife. Gwynedd might well be on the brink of civil war.

  So Morgan and Duncan had ridden on toward 278

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  Culdi, little suspecting what that city held in store for them besides a worried young king. As they reined in before the main gates in the chill, early morning blackness, squinting against the torchlight on the rampart walls, a gate warder slid open a spy hole and inspected them suspiciously. After three days of riding, the two before the gates definitely did not look like types one would want to admit to a walled city in the predawn hours.

  "Who seeks admittance to the city of Culdi before the rising of the sun? Identify yourselves or face the judgement of the city."

  "Duke Alaric Morgan and Duncan McLain to see the king," Duncan said in a low voice. "Open quickly, please. We're in a hurry."

  The gate warder held a hurried, whispered conference with someone Duncan could not see, then peered out again and nodded.

  "Stand back please, m'lords. The captain is on his way."

  Morgan and Duncan backed their horses a few paces and slouched in the saddles. Morgan glanced up at the ramparts and noticed a white-haired head on a pike above the gate. He frowned and touched Duncan's elbow, directing his attention toward the sight with a nod of his head, and Duncan looked up too.

  "I thought that sort of execution was reserved for traitors," Morgan said, studying the head curiously. "That hasn't been up there for long, either. It can't have happened more than a few days ago."

  Duncan knitted his brow and shrugged. "I don't recognize him. He looks fairly young, too, despite the white hair. I wonder what he did."

  There was the creak of bars being raised behind tHe gates, a groan of steel hinges and clanking chains, and then a postern gate opened in the right half of the huge main doors, barely large enough to admit a man on

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  horseback. Morgan glanced quizzically at Duncan, for as far as he remembered it was not the usual practice to admit visitors through the postern gate. On the other hand, he had never tried to enter the city before dawn, either. And there was no hint of danger behind the door. Morgan's powers had returned by now, and there was no treachery afoot that he could detect.

  Duncan guided his horse through the gate and into the small courtyard beyond, and Morgan followed. Inside, two dark-cloaked city warders bearing torches were mounting up, holding their skittish horses in check before Morgan and Duncan. A guard captain wearing the insignia of Kelson's elite corps reached up to take hold of Morgan's bridle.

  "Welcome to Culdi, Your Grace, Monsignor McLain," he said, bowing slightly but keeping his eyes averted as he moved to keep from being stepped on by Morgan's horse. "These men will escort you to the main keep."

  The man released Morgan's horse and stepped back, signaling the warders to proceed, and Morgan frowned again. It was dark in the tiny courtyard, with only the meager torchlight to illuminate the area, but Morgan thought he had seen black crepe banding the man's arm above the elbow. It was very strange that one of Kelson's personal household should be in public mourning. He wondered who had died.

  The mounted escort pulled out, holding their torches aloft, and Morgan and Duncan urged their tired horses after them. The streets of Culdi were empty at this hour of the morning, and the hoofbeats echoed on the cobbles and paving stones of the winding streets. They came at length to the main entrance to the keep, were readily admitted when the guards there saw their escort. But as Morgan and Duncan glanced up at where the royal suite was located, the rooms where the king always stayed when he visited Culdi, they

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  were amazed to see lights burning at the windows there, with still more than an hour until dawn.

  Now, that was truly strange. What could have aroused the young king at this hour? Morgan and Duncan both knew that the boy was an inveterate late sleeper, would not willingly have arisen at this hour unless something were urgently requiring his attention. What was going on?

  The two drew rein and dismounted. A groom walking a sheeted and exhausted horse over to the left was muttering and shaking his head disgustedly every time he stopped to run his hands down the animal's legs, and the animal itself seemed on the verge of collapse.

  A messenger must have arrived on that horse, Morgan concluded. A messenger with news for Kelson which could not wait. That was why the candles burned at Kelson's window.

  As they hurried up the main steps, Morgan glanced at his cousin and realized he had reached the same conclusion. An ancient doorkeep whom both men recognized from their childhood admitted them and bowed, signaled two young pages to light their way to the upper floor. He was Jared's man, a faithful servant of the MeLain family all his life, but he too would not meet their eyes or speak. And he, too, wore a black crepe armband.

  Who has died? Morgan asked himself, a chill suspicion touching his heart. Not the king, please Godl

  Casting an anguished look at Duncan, Morgan bounded up the stairs three at a time, Dunsan right at his heels. Both knew the way to their destination, for Castle Culdi was a familiar childhood haunt. But Morgan reached the door first and wrenched at the latch. The door flew open and crashed back against the wall.

  Kelson sat at a writing desk near the windows in his nightclothes, haggard-loo
king and with raven hair disheveled. The desk was banked with candles, their

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  light dancing over the table as the door flew open, and Kelson was writing absorbedly on a scrap of paper, studying a parchment document on the table before him. Behind him and to his left stood Deny in a hastily donned blue dressing gown, leaning over Kelson's shoulder to point out something on the parchment. A young squire was slumped exhaustedly on a hassock by the fireplace, one of Kelson's crimson cloaks thrown around his shoulders. He stared dully into the flames and sipped hot wine as two pages removed his boots and tried to offer him food.

  Kelson looked up with a start as the door flew open, and his eyes widened as he saw Morgan and Duncan. All eyes had darted to the doorway as the two entered, and now as Kelson stood and put down his pen, Derry stepped back and watched quietly. Even in the candlelight, it was evident that something was grossly wrong.

  Kelson signaled the pages and the squire to withdraw, not moving further until the door had closed behind them. Only then did he step from behind the table to lean dejectedly against the edge. No word had yet been spoken, and Morgan glanced first at Derry, then at Kelson.

  "What's wrong, Kelson?"

  Kelson studied the toes of his slippers, would not meet Morgan's eyes. "There's no easy way to tell you this, Alaric, Father Duncan. You'd better both sit down."

  As Deny pulled chairs closer, Morgan and Duncan exchanged apprehensive glances and sat. Deny returned to his place beside Kelson's chair, his face unreadable, and Morgan returned his attention to Kelson as the boy sighed.

  "First of all, there's this," the boy said, gesturing behind him to where the parchment lay on the table. "I don't know what you did at Saint Term's—Father Hugh didn't give the details—but I think it will come

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  as no surprise that both of you have been declared excommunicate."

  Morgan and Duncan exchanged glances again and Duncan nodded.

  "By Loris?"

  "By the entire Gwynedd Curia."

  Duncan sat back and sighed. "No, I can't say we're surprised. Gorony must have had some tales to tell. I suppose they mentioned that I had to reveal myself as Deryni?"